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The 39 Clues: Rapid Fire #1: Legacy (978-0-545-45197-0) © 2011 Scholastic Inc. The 39 Clues: Rapid Fire #2: Ignition (978-0-545-45194-9) © 2011 Scholastic Inc. The 39 Clues: Rapid Fire #3: Hunted (978-0-545-45198-7) © 2011 Scholastic Inc. The 39 Clues: Rapid Fire #4: Crushed (978-0-545-45199-4) © 2011 Scholastic Inc.

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This collection first printing, January 2013

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Clifford Riley wishes to acknowledge

the following Cahills:

Gavin Brown

Zachary Clark

Mallory Kass

Grace Kendall

Rebecca Leach

Christina McTighe

Jackie Reitzes

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Eight Months Before the Clue hunt

On Christmas morning, Grace Cahill learned she was

dying of cancer.

She watched as Dr. Zimmerman set a thin folder down

on the desk. They were in a wide study in Grace’s house.

She was the kind of person people made house calls for,

even on Christmas. All that bad news from such a small

file. It struck Grace as strange, though she wasn’t sure why.

She was an accomplished chemist and knew that the most

terrible things often came in small doses.

“How long?” Grace asked, as though the question were

an involuntary reaction. “Isn’t that what people ask in

this situation?”

Dr. Zimmerman sighed, removing her glasses and

pinching the bridge of her nose. “Patients at this stage

usually have a time frame of around six months. That’s

about where I’d put you, Grace.”

“Six . . .” It wasn’t enough time. There was still too much

to prepare, too much that the children didn’t know. And if

they weren’t ready, the whole world could suffer. “I’ll take

eight,” Grace said.

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E“Grace,” said Dr. Zimmerman. “You’re a strong and

ambitious woman. I know you’re going to fight this, which

is why I’m telling you six months instead of three. But you

need to accept that you are dying. Soon.”

Grace found her eyes were locked on her hands, which

were knotted firmly in her lap. They were the only things

she could focus on right then. She didn’t dare meet the

oncologist’s eyes, in case she betray not sadness or fear,

but anger. Grace was furious with herself. She’d spent her

whole life searching for the 39 Clues, but it still wasn’t

enough time. She’d failed.

Dr. Zimmerman reached for Grace’s hands. “You need

to be thinking about your loved ones right now. Your fam-

ily. Are they taken care of? Have you spent the time with

them that you need to? It’s Christmas morning, and where

are they? Now is the moment to make sure they under-

stand how much they mean to you, and ensure that they

are provided for.”

Provided for. Grace’s thoughts snapped back to the legal

documents locked in a hidden compartment in that very

desk, right below her test results. They would change not

only the lives of her family, but perhaps the very course of

human history. Grace slowly withdrew her hands, patting

out invisible wrinkles in her blouse.

“Thank you, Barbara. I think you’re right. There are

affairs that still must be set in order.”

“I’m sorry, Grace. I’ll still do everything I can —”

“No, thank you. You said exactly what I needed to

hear, I think. I’ll come to your office next week to talk

treatments.”

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Grace led Dr. Zimmerman to the door and said good-

bye, then moved silently to the window. She was nearly

eighty years old. Death was no stranger to her. She’d seen

it take many others, including her beloved daughter and

son-in-law. Staring death in the face now was nothing

compared to finding it had sneaked by to claim her only

child first.

Grace watched the snow begin to fall over the front

lawn of her estate like a blanket, or a powder, or any of

those soft and comforting things snow was supposed to

be in moments like this. But she didn’t need comfort right

now. She needed to make a decision.

A coughing fit brought her cat, Saladin, into the room.

Saladin was a large, gray Egyptian Mau and had been

Grace’s travel companion on many adventures. When she

first started getting sick, it had been Saladin who seemed

to sense it. In the week preceding her recent prognosis, he

had barely left her side at all.

Grace’s cough subsided. Reaching down to pet Saladin,

she noticed his fur was wet with melted snow.

“You’ve been prowling the neighborhood, haven’t you?”

she said. “Quite a trek through the snow, just to fertilize

the neighbors’ yards.”

Saladin mewled, as if feigning surprise at the accusation.

“Well, it’ll be spring by the time they find your little

gifts, and by then . . .” Grace paused. “By then, they’ll

have much bigger things to worry about. The whole world

might.”

Grace was the matriarch of the Cahills, the most influen-

tial family the world had ever known. George Washington,

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ENapoleon, Amelia Earhart — nearly every important fig-

ure in the last five hundred years had belonged to one of

its five branches. Most of the family members themselves

didn’t know the true extent of the Cahill legacy — or the

terrible responsibility that came with it. Only Grace had

figured out the truth of the 39 Clues that concealed the

source of the Cahills’ great power. It had been the defining

goal of her life to find each of the Clues, and protect them

from her ruthless family.

And only Grace knew that the Cahills weren’t alone

in the search for the Clues. A shadowy organization, the

Vespers, lurked somewhere in the dark places of the world,

and crept into her thoughts now.

Grace produced a small key seemingly from nowhere,

and moved quickly from the window to the large, carved

cherrywood desk at the center of the room. She opened a

drawer in the desk, then felt around within it. There was

a soft clicking noise as a smaller, hidden compartment

descended into place. She unlocked the secret drawer and

pulled it open. Splayed within, like an open deck of cards,

were the legal documents that would set into motion a

deadly serious scavenger hunt for the very Clues she’d

worked her whole life to protect. But she was dying, and

someone must come forward who was strong enough to

stand against the Vespers.

Now that the moment had finally arrived, however, she

found that she was hesitating.

She picked up the small pen that lay beside the docu-

ments. Just a bit of ink to paper, and she would drop her

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only grandchildren into the fray. Such terrible things from

such small doses.

Grace set the pen down.

All her life, Grace had been tormented by the worry

that someone with selfish or evil aims would find the 39

Clues. But for five hundred years, the Clues had remained

safely hidden.

Saladin approached cautiously, watching Grace tuck

the documents back into the secret desk drawer.

No one had ever been able to locate all the Clues. Soon

Grace would be dead, and here she was on Christmas

morning, laying plans to protect them from her grave. She

wouldn’t place such a heavy burden on the two people she

loved most — Amy and Dan Cahill, her grandchildren.

Grace locked the drawer once more, and moved hur-

riedly to the phone on the other side of the room. Saladin

scampered out of her path as she crossed, now completely

oblivious to him.

The world was safe enough without eccentric old Grace

Cahill shaking things up one last time. The Vespers hadn’t

been heard from in over a decade, and Grace pushed them

firmly out of her mind. It was decided.

The secrets of the Clues would die with her.

It was Christmas, and Dan Cahill was not in a good mood.

“Sit down, dweeb,” Amy said. “You’re making me

nervous.”

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E“What’s taking her so long?” Dan said, pacing back

into the cramped living room from the bathroom. “Grace

was supposed to call two hours ago!” Dan was dressed in

his usual Christmas outfit: a black ninja costume, com-

plete with plastic throwing stars stuffed into his pockets.

“I can’t imagine why she’d be trying to delay the inevi-

table,” said Amy, looking back down at the Tchaikovsky

biography she had open on her lap. “Maybe it has some-

thing to do with the neighbors seeing an eleven-year-old

ninja being driven up to her house.”

“Grace has way weirder people than me coming in and

out all the time,” Dan said. “You, on the other hand, are

about as boring as it gets. If Grace is worried about anyone

cramping her style, I’d point to the gloomy nerd reading

about Chucklesky.”

“Tchaikovsky. He composed the score for the ballet The

Nutcracker.”

Dan threw his hands up. “How am I supposed to get

any better at making you sound like a loser if you just

do all the work for me?”

Amy cocked her arm back to throw her book at her

brother. Dan yelped and bolted into his room, slam-

ming the door. A handwritten sign on the front read FORT

NO-NERDS.

Amy sighed and lowered the book back onto her lap. At

this point she was just pretending to read — she couldn’t

actually concentrate on the sentences in front of her while

she waited for Grace’s call. In her pocket, her cell phone felt

like it weighed a thousand pounds, and she kept imagin-

ing she felt it ringing. But it never did.

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Dan was always a little exasperating this time of

year — even more than his usual day-to-day annoying —

but this holiday had been especially trying for the two

Cahill siblings.

Amy looked around, taking in the tiny apartment.

Paper Christmas decorations and streamers were strewn

along half the room. They cut off abruptly, though, the

streamers falling limply to the carpet. Frida, their most

recent au pair, had been hanging them when Amy and

Dan’s guardian called to lay her off.

Amy and Dan were orphans. Their parents had died

in a fire years ago. Though they were legally in the care

of their great-aunt Beatrice, she opted to have the siblings

housed apart from her, hiring a constant and varied

stream of live-in au pairs to watch over them. They never

lasted very long. Beatrice had a habit of quickly firing

them, often for no reason at all.

Dan emerged from his room after a few minutes. He’d

switched out the ninja getup for a sweater, jeans, and his

backpack, but he still had the mask hanging around his

neck. He held a plastic throwing star up in a defensive

position.

“Try anything with the book, and you’re getting this

right between the eyes,” he said.

“If you throw that anywhere near my face, dweeb,

they’ll be burying you in that goofy costume.”

Dan narrowed his eyes. “You are a worthy rival,

nerd-san.”

Amy smirked and shook her head. “Listen, I wouldn’t

worry,” she said, as a sort of peace offering. “I’m sure Grace

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Eis busy with something important. Maybe she’s getting us

a really incredible present . . . a little bit late.”

She wished there was more she could do for Dan. Her

little brother would never admit how sad he was, but she

knew. Earlier in the day she’d presented him with his

Christmas present to try to cheer him up, a huge pack

full of bottle rockets. It had taken her months to save up

for the gift and convince Frida to do the actual purchas-

ing for her. Still, it was worth it to see Dan get excited

about something, even if just for a little while. She knew

that presents weren’t everything. Every holiday story since

holiday stories began had drilled that point home. But

they didn’t hurt, either.

Dan shrugged and lowered the throwing star. He shook

his backpack off and dug through it, pulling out the pack

of bottle rockets.

“Can we shoot some of these off while we wait?”

Amy thought about it for a moment. “You wouldn’t

rather do it at Grace’s house, with all that space in the

yard?”

“I have some ideas I want to try out,” Dan said with

a grin. “Like, what happens if you tie two, or even three

rockets together, end to end, so they’re all pulling in oppo-

site directions?”

“Someone gets hurt, probably,” Amy said doubtfully.

“Or something even cooler than that.”

“We should probably just wait for Grace,” Amy said,

looking back down at her biography.

Dan crossed his arms. “You know what? I’m tired of

waiting. If we aren’t important enough for her to pick us

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up on time on Christmas, I don’t see why she should keep

me from having fun. I’m going out.” He replaced the rock-

ets in his backpack and slipped it over his shoulders, then

stalked over to the apartment door and opened it.

“Wait, what?” Amy said, looking up from the book.

“No! What should I say to Grace?”

“Tell her I’m busy with something important.”

Slam.

Suddenly, Amy was alone in the apartment. Alone with

Tchaikovsky.

Fine. If Dan wanted to act like a brat, that wasn’t her

problem. She lifted the book to her face and stared at it

intently.

All of ten seconds passed before she hauled herself

up with a sigh of resignation, grabbed her coat from the

hanger by the door, and followed her brother out.

“Dan, wait!”

Amy huffed as she ran carefully along the slick Boston

sidewalks.

“Stupid . . . dweeb . . . ,” she said to no one in particular.

Dan had broken into a run as soon as he noticed his

sister was following him, and the twerp was smaller and

way faster than her. What did he think he was accomplish-

ing by shooting off like this, anyway?

He’s going to give himself an asthma attack, Amy thought.

It was especially embarrassing when they passed the

odd jogger or dog walker who was out that day. Dan had

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Epulled the ninja mask back up over his face, and Amy

wasn’t so far behind that she couldn’t see the looks of con-

fusion — and then amusement — that came over strangers’

faces as they watched a pint-sized ninja run by. Or the

looks of pity that followed as she came panting after.

“Everything okay?” one woman asked as she passed.

Amy was sure her face was Christmas-ornament red

from the exertion already, but if it wasn’t, she would have

blushed furiously.

“Mm . . . hm!” she wheezed, lowering her head and

sprinting forward.

Eventually, Dan curved left, hitting Hyde Park Avenue.

Oh, dweeb, where are you going? Amy pleaded internally.

He surprised her when he curved again, this time onto

a road Amy didn’t recognize. The scenery changed dras-

tically as she followed. The apartment-filled street gave

way to large, decrepit warehouses. The area was a gray

and white mix of cement, stone, and the occasional bare,

skeleton-thin tree.

Between the holiday and the weather, Amy expected

that such a sparse industrial street would be completely

empty, but was surprised to see three figures in dark motor-

cycle outfits standing near the entrance of a warehouse.

All three wore jet-black helmets with the visors down. One

of the three, the tallest and broadest by far, had a bright

red stripe that cut across his jacket like a bloody wound.

Amy tried not to look, but could see from the corner of her

eye three helmets turning as she passed. She found herself

holding her breath. Something about their faceless visors

creeped her out.

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She picked up her speed.

About a block down, she spotted Dan. He’d pulled the

ninja mask up from his mouth and was leaning against

the side of a brick building. Amy could tell that his breath-

ing was a little ragged.

Not that she was in great shape herself, but Dan had

asthma, and almost never remembered to bring his inhaler

anywhere with him.

Amy came to a stop a few feet from Dan, and nearly

doubled over.

“You . . . are such . . . a child,” she panted.

Dan didn’t respond. He just leaned against the wall,

trying to suck in air.

Amy fumbled through her coat pocket. She’d taken to

keeping a spare inhaler on her whenever she went any-

where with her brother. She pulled it out now and handed

it to him.

Dan pressed it to his lips and pushed down on the can-

ister, breathing in the aerosol. His gasping breaths evened

out. Then, slowly, they returned to normal.

“Thanks,” he said meekly.

Amy sighed. “It’s okay, dweeb.”

“I’m sorry.” Dan’s voice cracked a bit, and it wasn’t from

being out of breath. Underneath the ninja mask, Amy

could see that his eyes were red and moist. She realized

now why he’d kept it on.

“I know,” she said more softly. “It’s okay.”

Dan looked away, embarrassed.

Amy decided to give him a bit of room and turned

around to survey the area. It was snowing heavily now.

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EShe and Dan had never been to this part of Hyde Park

before, and the neighborhood looked especially unfamiliar

covered in white. It was also eerily quiet.

“Let’s get out of here, okay? I don’t like this place.”

“It’s not so bad,” Dan said, sniffing and standing up

straight. “I don’t see a single library.”

“I’m serious, Dan,” Amy said.

Amy heard the sound of snow crunching underfoot

behind her. Turning around, she could just make out three

figures approaching through the snowfall. She realized

they were the same three men from before.

Amy took a step back. “I think we should go.”

The biggest of the figures, the one with the bright red

stripe on his jacket, reached into his pocket and pulled

out a brown glass bottle. He uncapped it and held a white

cloth to the lip.

It took a moment before Amy recognized what she was

seeing. The action was familiar, but she couldn’t place

from where.

“What’s he doing?” Dan said, his voice now serious.

Then it hit her. She’d read a spy novel earlier in the

year, where some terrorists tried to bring down an agent

by kidnapping his family. So they’d followed his daughter

from school one day and . . .

“That’s chloroform!” Amy gasped.

“Why would —”

Suddenly, the men sprinted forward, heading straight

for Amy and Dan.

“Run!” Amy screamed, grabbing Dan’s arm and turn-

ing in the other direction. She scrambled forward with her

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brother in tow. The snow was making visibility difficult,

not to mention running.

Dan pulled on his sister’s arm, slowing her pace. “In

there!” he said, pointing to a fenced-in side lot. The fence

enclosing the lot was locked with a thick chain and pad-

lock, but there was a gap between the chain and the gate

that might just be wide enough for the two of them to

squeeze through.

Amy curved toward the fence and moved to the side,

pushing Dan in through the gap first. He was smaller, and

slid through easily.

Dan turned once he was on the other side and grabbed

Amy’s arm. Amy glanced over her shoulder. Though

obscured by snow, the three men couldn’t have been more

then twenty feet away. Amy tried slipping in through the

bars while Dan pulled.

But she didn’t fit. She was trapped outside with the

kidnappers.

“Oh, no,” she rasped. “Oh, no, no, no.”

She wiggled around, trying desperately to squeeze

through the gap. Dan groaned as he pulled.

“Come on, Amy!” he said. “Come on!”

“I can’t!” Amy said in a panic.

Then, as if just to contradict her, Amy felt her body

moving. Before she had a chance to feel relieved, she was

suddenly through the fence, crashing onto Dan and send-

ing them both spilling into the snow.

Amy was up in a flash and searching around the lot

while Dan scrambled to his feet.

“Oh, no,” she said. The lot was surprisingly large, but it

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Ehad no outlet besides the gate. All the doors to the ware-

house were closed and bolted shut.

“Amy,” Dan said, “look.” He nodded in the direction of

one of the doors. Positioned right next to the doorway was

a series of five large metal dumpsters.

“No,” Amy said, shaking her head. “No way.”

“How long do you think it’ll take those guys to climb a

fence?” Dan said. “We have to hide!”

Dan raced to the farthest dumpster, lifted the lid, and

shimmied inside. “Get in!” he hissed, peeking his head

out. “It doesn’t smell that bad.”

Amy whimpered slightly as she put her hands on the

metal lip of the dumpster, then scrambled ungracefully in

beside her brother, lowering the lid behind her. She had to

crouch into an awkward perching position once inside. It

smelled exactly that bad.

“Ugh,” Amy gagged. “This smells worse than the fort

in your room.”

“Shh!”

They could just make out the sounds of three gravelly

voices coming from outside.

“. . . they go?”

“Prob . . . to . . . out.”

“No . . . saw . . . here.”

There was a loud, metallic noise, followed by the sound

of a chain falling away. They heard the gate swing open.

“What’s going on?” Dan whispered. His voice was shak-

ing, and Amy could feel him shivering beside her. “Why

would anyone be after us, of all people?” Amy wanted to

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take his hand, but was terrified she might lose her balance

and make a noise.

The voices were getting louder.

“. . . sure these are Grace Cahill’s grandkids?” one of

the voices said. “. . . would they be out alone?”

Amy and Dan stopped breathing. Something was very

wrong.

“Who knows . . . saved us the trouble . . .”

“. . . Vesper, and get some more people out here.

Search the area until you find them. . . . whatever force

is necessary.”

The voices and sound of crunching snow began moving

farther away. Soon the lot was quiet.

“He said Grace’s name,” Dan whispered.

“They must be trying to get a ransom out of her,” said

Amy. A deep, terrible panic was setting in. It seemed to

pulse through her like a heartbeat, so intense it made her

light-headed.

“What was that other thing he said?” Dan said. “About

a Vespa?”

“They w-were wearing helmets,” Amy said. Her vision

was slowly adjusting to the darkness. She couldn’t see

much, but she could see that Dan’s eyes were wide with

fear. She had to keep it together for her brother. Amy pulled

her cell phone out of her pocket. The light from the screen

illuminated the contents of the dumpster around them. It

was blessedly un-full, but Amy couldn’t help imagining

the vermin that probably made the place their home at

night. Under the blue light of the phone, Dan’s face was

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Epale and serious. Huddled up in the corner of the dump-

ster, he looked as terrified as she felt.

“I’m calling the police,” Amy said. “Make sure they

aren’t right outside.”

“Espionage is what ninjas do best,” Dan said, with a

weak grin. He tried to sound tough, but his voice was thin

and shaky. Dan rose up to risk a slow, careful look out

from a small hole chewed out of the top corner by rust.

Two dark-clad figures stood near the entrance to the

lot. The gate was wide open now, and Dan could just

see that one of the figures had the handles of what he

assumed were bolt cutters hanging out of his jacket

pocket.

“Two of them are watching the exit,” he whispered. “It

looks like the third one left, the big one with the red stripe

on his jacket. These guys really came prepared. They cut

open the chain on the fence.”

“Cut the chain?” Amy whispered. She swallowed,

attempting desperately to shove the fear down into some

manageable compartment of her brain. She needed to

think. She needed to get help.

“I’m calling the p-police now,” Amy said.

Oh, no, she thought. Her stammer was starting, as it

always did when she was nervous and had to talk to peo-

ple. And she was more than just nervous now. She was

delirious with fear.

Amy looked down and took a deep breath. Somehow

she managed to dial 911 into the phone with her shaking

fingers. She placed it to her ear, and was startled when an

operator answered after only a single ring.

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“Nine-one-one,” the woman said coolly. “What’s your

emergency?”

“H-hi,” Amy said, trying to remain calm.

Don’t stammer, don’t stammer, don’t stammer.

“He-hello, y-yes. My b-brother and I are near H-Hyde

Park and these m-men are t-t-trying to hurt us.”

“Can you tell me where you are exactly?” the operator

said, her voice becoming serious.

“I’m n-not sure,” Amy said. “We got a little l-l-lost.”

Dan peeked out of the dumpster again, then immedi-

ately shot back down. “Hang up, quick!”

In a panic, Amy ended the call. Seconds later she heard

the snow crunch as feet passed in front of the dumpster,

then stopped.

Then the whistling began.

Amy and Dan sat in silence, not daring to breathe,

barely daring to think. Just above them, one of the kid-

nappers casually and deliberately whistled a creepy old

children’s song called “Alouette” that Amy recognized

from school. The song was about plucking the feathers

from a small bird.

This was it, Amy realized. They were caught. Dead,

maybe. The guy was toying with them.

They waited for what seemed like an eternity. The whis-

tling sounded like it was right in Amy’s ear. Her lungs

burned with the effort of holding her breath.

Then the song suddenly finished. Amy expected the

dumpster lid to go shooting up, to see that terrible black

visor staring down at them. Instead, the crunching foot-

steps slowly moved off.

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EAmy breathed in the rank air of the dumpster, and it

felt like a miracle. It was all she could do not to break into

tears.

“They’re going to check the dumpsters eventually,” Dan

whispered, after a few moments. “And they said more guys

were on the way.” His voice was shakier than Amy had

ever heard it.

“What do we do?” Amy said. “I can’t keep calling the

police and hanging up. I don’t even know where we are.”

Amy jumped when she heard a loud metallic bang com-

ing from the far end of the lot.

“What’s that?” she whispered.

Dan looked at her with round eyes. “They’ve started,”

he said. It was the sound of a dumpster lid being thrown

open.

In the darkness, Amy heard Dan unzipping his back-

pack. “I have an idea,” he said. “But we have to be prepared

to run.”

Bang!

“What’s your idea?”

Suddenly, a light flared in the dumpster. In one hand

Dan held a sterling Zippo lighter. In the other was the

pack of bottle rockets Amy had gotten him for Christmas.

“Where’d you get that lighter?” she demanded.

“Frida,” Dan said, closing it. “She left it behind.

Remember how she was always talking about camping

and outdoorsy stuff? She said she kept a water-resistant

lighter on her at all times, in case she needed emergency

fire.”

There was a short beat of silence in the dumpster.

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“Huh,” said Dan. “Except probably now.”

“Are you s-sure about th-this?” said Amy. “Bottle

rockets?”

Bang! They were getting closer.

“No,” said Dan. “But we’re out of time. Just get ready

to run, okay?”

Amy swallowed, and nodded at her brother.

Dan pulled two rockets from the pack. He stood up and

peeked out from under the lid. The kidnappers were near

the fence, checking a dumpster two down from them. So

far so good. He aimed one of the rockets for the other end

of the lot, away from both the entrance and the dumpster.

“Here goes,” he said. Dan opened the Zippo and lit

the fuse.

It hissed for half a second, then the rocket shot scream-

ing away.

Crack!

“Over there!” one of the kidnappers shouted.

Amy started to rise. “Let’s go!”

“Wait,” Dan said, aiming the second rocket. “It’s a two-

part plan.” He lit the fuse and the rocket shot off in the

direction of the would-be kidnappers.

“Auuuurrrrgghh!”

“Run now!” Dan said.

Amy and Dan burst from the dumpster and scrambled

for the entrance of the lot. Looking behind him, Dan saw

that one of the kidnappers was frantically fanning his

butt, which was smoking slightly.

“Part two was completely unnecessary, wasn’t it?” Amy

yelled as they ran.

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E“Yup!” shouted Dan.

“There they go!” The kidnappers had spotted them.

Amy grabbed Dan’s arm and surged forward. They

made it out of the lot and turned left, heading back in the

direction they’d come from. They ran as fast as they could

back toward home, but the snow continued to fall heavily

and the pair kept stumbling. Amy looked behind her and

gasped. The men were just a few yards away, and gaining.

“Follow me,” she said, still tightly gripping Dan’s arm.

She shot to the right, turning down a small side road.

About halfway down, she turned right again.

“Wait, what?” Dan said. “We’re going back the other

way!”

“Exactly,” said Amy. “It’s unpredictable. Hopefully the

kidnappers won’t think we’d double back, either.”

The street they’d backtracked onto was just as deserted,

but Amy spotted a battered plywood fence farther down

in front of them. She ducked behind it, pulling Dan with

her. After a few seconds, she could hear the slap of the

kidnappers’ feet as they ran past.

It worked, Amy thought. I can’t believe it worked! She

pulled Dan in closer to her.

Suddenly, Amy’s phone started vibrating. She reached

into her jacket pocket, fumbling to pull it out. On the

screen was the name Grace Cahill.

Amy hit answer and placed the phone to her ear. “Grace,

we’re in t-trouble,” Amy stammered.

“What’s happened?” her grandmother’s voice answered

from the other end, wasting no time.

“We’re in Hyde Park. These m-men are following us,”

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Amy whispered as loudly as she dared. “They said your

n-n-name and they’re bringing more guys to try and

f-find us.”

“Tell her about the Vespas,” Dan said.

“Shush!” Amy hissed.

“What did Dan just say?” Grace said, her voice rising.

Amy’s heart almost stopped. She’d never heard her grand-

mother sound afraid before.

A voice from their left, getting louder. The kidnappers

were returning. There was no time. She looked around

her. The place was littered with garbage, including glass

bottles, a large piece of tarp, and . . . twine.

She made a decision. If Dan could be brave in this awful

situation, so could she. She didn’t have any other choice.

“Dan,” she whispered. “Get the bottle rockets out.”

“Amy, do not engage these men,” Grace said from the

phone. “Do you understand me? I’m calling the police.”

“Grace . . . ,” Amy sobbed.

“Amy?” said Grace.

“We love you.”

“Amy, no! Do no —”

Amy hung up the phone. She looked over to Dan, who

was holding a fistful of bottle rockets, his eyes wide.

“I’m going to get us out of this,” Amy said. “Don’t worry,

d-dweeb.” It wasn’t exactly comforting.

Dan was shaking like the last leaf of winter, his face

completely serious. “If only you’d brought that book about

Chucklesky. That huge thing would scare these guys away

for sure.”

“Tchaikovsky,” Amy said with a small smile. She

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Egrabbed one of the bigger glass bottles nearby. “How many

rockets can we fit into this?”

“Five safely,” Dan said. “Let’s try fifteen.”

“Do it,” Amy said, handing the bottle to him. She picked

up a bit of twine from the ground. “Okay, Dan, ready to

see what happens when you tie three bottle rocket ends

together so they all pull in different directions?”

Dan looked up at his sister. A huge grin spread across

his face.

Two faceless, black-clad figures stalked back along the

side street, methodically searching the area. They kicked

over every trash can, crumpled every box, checked every

doorway, and smashed in every window. They moved with

ruthless precision. The chase had gone on long enough.

Halfway down the street, one of the figures stopped in

place, and motioned for the other to be quiet. His partner

slowly lowered the recycling bin he’d been looking under.

There. Yes. Definitely the sound of whispering. He

moved, slowly and silently, to the corner of a side street.

Peering around, he spotted a shadow hidden behind a bit

of dilapidated wooden fencing. A long section of tarp hung

out from behind the fence. The Cahill brats were clearly

trying to hide under the tarp. The man and his partner sneaked up very slowly to

the fence, treading carefully once they were on the tarp.

Turning, the man nodded to his partner, who nodded

back. They lunged around the fence.

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There stood Dan alone, with a ninja mask pulled over

his face. Fifteen hissing bottle rockets were pointed right

at them.

“Screaming bottle of death-jutsu!” Dan yelled.

The rockets exploded into the air just as the men turned

to run. Behind them, Amy burst out from under a section

of tarp. She made a noise that was part battle cry and part

scream of terror, and pulled hard on it.

Amy was no Wonder Woman, but the men’s panic and

the slick, snow-covered surface of the tarp were enough.

The two kidnappers fell on top of each other, under a

shower of fireworks. Amy threw the tarp over the kidnap-

pers. Dan lit the bottle rocket daisy chain and tossed it in

after them, then tied the ends of the tarp in a quick, messy

knot. Inside, there was a series of screeches and cracks, and

the kidnappers started shrieking.

Amy grabbed Dan’s hand and ran.

“That whole thing would have been much cooler in my

ninja costume,” Dan puffed.

“No, it wouldn’t,” said Amy. She rounded the corner

that led back the way they came, in toward town.

And slammed right into the third kidnapper.

Things seemed to happen in slow motion. Both Amy

and the kidnapper were knocked back. Dan let go of Amy’s

hand, and before he even realized what he was doing he

charged forward, pushing the off-balance figure with all

his strength.

Somehow the shove worked, and the man fell over into

the snow. Dan grabbed Amy, pulling her back into a run.

But the kidnapper was up fast, and chasing them

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Edown. Looking back, Amy realized that he was gaining

on them with incredible speed, even in the snow. His shin-

ing, blank visor gave no clue as to the person inside, but

he was close enough that Amy could see herself reflected

in the helmet, running, her face a contorted mask of

fear. In the quiet of the snowy street, Amy could hear

the man’s heavy, growling breaths under his helmet as

he ran.

Then he reached into his jacket pocket and pulled out

a gleaming steel knife.

For a brief second, the blade caught the reflection of the

red stripe in the kidnapper’s jacket, and Amy imagined it

covered in blood.

“No, no, no, no,” she pleaded, straining forward.

Though she ran desperately, it was difficult to get any

traction in the snow. Her legs were burning, but she willed

them to keep going. Snow whipped past her face, but Amy

couldn’t feel it anymore. All she could think about was the

gleam of the knife and the blank visor of the kidnapper

behind her.

“He’s gaining!” Dan screamed. “He’s got a knife!”

“I know!”

Amy didn’t dare look behind her again — he sounded

too close. Any second now she’d be wrenched back and feel

the edge of that knife pushed against her neck.

Then she saw it.

The route she’d taken from the populated street was

right in front of them. It glowed with a shifting white and

blue light, like some magical pathway home in a fairy tale.

And below the noise of her ragged breathing, of the slap of

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the man’s feet just behind them, she heard a sound more

wonderful than all the Tchaikovsky scores combined — a

car engine.

Amy made a hard left turn, practically dragging Dan

with her. There, idling on the side of the road, was a police

car flashing its lights. Amy had never seen anything more

beautiful.

“It’s them!” said a nearby voice. “The kids who made

the call!”

Two police officers rushed over to Amy and Dan.

Huffing and wheezing, Dan turned around to point to

their pursuer, but the street was empty of anything except

soft, white snow.

“This can’t possibly all be for us,” Dan said, his mouth

hanging open long after he’d finished speaking. The parlor

of Grace’s mansion was filled wall to wall with Christmas

decorations. Enormous, ornate wreaths hung on the walls,

dressed in shimmering white ribbons, and almost every

surface in the room was covered in flickering red and gold

candles. A warm fire crackled conversationally from the

fireplace in the back of the room, where two beautiful

stockings were hanging, full to bursting.

At the center of the parlor, a giant tree towered over

piles and piles of gifts in shining red and green wrapping

paper, all of which was encircled by what looked like a

functioning toy train set. It was as if a city of presents had

been built into the side of a jolly green mountain.

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EMugs of steaming chocolate, eggnog, and cider were

laid out on a table, as well as a feast of meats, cheeses, and

candy. Dan noted with approval that there were plenty of

red gummies.

“Well, it isn’t for Beatrice,” said Grace, crossing her arms

and smiling. Christmases at her mansion had always

been elaborate. After everything Amy and Dan had been

through, all the loss, she felt they deserved it. But this year

Grace had gone all out.

“This is incredible,” Amy said, shaking her head. “It

must have taken weeks to put all this together.”

Grace gave her an odd smile. “I had a feeling we’d want

a big Christmas this year. A day to remember.”

When Amy and Dan had arrived at her house in a

police car, Grace had ushered them inside quickly. The

police said they wanted statements from the two, but Grace

insisted they leave her grandchildren to enjoy what was

left of their Christmas. In the end, the officers relented,

so long as Grace promised to bring them to the station

the next day. No one could stand up to Grace when she’d

made up her mind.

Dan rushed over to the tree and lifted a box with his

name on it, tearing into the wrapping paper.

Amy grabbed a cup of cider and sat down in one of the

parlor’s plush leather chairs with a sigh of pleasure.

“My legs are killing me,” she said. “I’m never exercis-

ing again.”

“Baseball cards!” Dan shouted. His eyes widened as

he pulled one out. “Do you know how much this one is

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worth?!”

Amy plugged her ears. “If you don’t be quiet, I’m going

to tell Grace to take it back.”

Dan answered by turning the train set on. It rattled to

life and chugged forward with a pleasant whistle.

“I have my own questions for the two of you about what

happened,” said Grace. “You must be exhausted and half-

starved, though. Get to work on the chocolate and cider.

I have a few calls to make, but when I get back you can

unwrap the rest of your presents and tell me everything.”

“Okay,” said Dan, not even looking up from the cards

fanned out in his hand.

“Thanks, Grace,” said Amy, sinking even deeper into

the chair. “But can I take a shower first? We kind of had

to spend a little time in a dumpster today.”

Grace smiled. “I’ve hidden in my fair share of trash

cans before. Nothing to be embarrassed about. I’ll bring

back some towels.”

Grace stepped from the parlor into a long, dark hall-

way and closed the door. The warm light of the fire and

candles cut off abruptly, leaving only the light of the dark-

ening twilight to guide her. Still, she moved surely down

the hallway, stopping in front of a door and turning on

a light in the room inside, where a phone was set out on a

small side table.

Grace picked it up, and dialed a number from memory.

“Good afternoon. Yes, I know what day it is, so spare

me the dramatics. I need you to begin preparations to hire

Nellie Gomez right away. Beatrice won’t be a problem. I

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Ewill insist. Thank you.”

Grace hung up, staring out at nothing for a moment.

When she broke into a small coughing fit, Saladin entered

the room, watching her from afar.

“So,” Grace said softly, after the coughs subsided. “The

Vespers are back.”

Her fingers clenched into tight fists. The pain of her

regret was almost physical. Though it agonized her more

than they would ever know, there was no choice. The Clue

hunt would go on, and Dan and Amy would be right in the

middle of it. If they only understood what they’d actually

accomplished today, escaping the clutches of perhaps the

most terrifying organization the world had ever seen. If

they only . . .

They’re only children! Grace lifted her fists and pounded

them into the side table. Saladin ran from the room in

terror.

She exhaled softly. This was their last Christmas

together. The last simple, uncomplicated one the two

might ever have. She wouldn’t spoil it.

“Just one more call to make,” Grace said. She picked

up the receiver, and her hand lingered over the buttons.

Then, slowly and deliberately, she dialed a number she

thought she would never have to call. After three rings, a

voice answered.

“Hello, Professor Astrid Rosenbloom? My name is Grace

Cahill. Professor, it’s imperative that you listen to me with

an open mind. The fate of the world may well be at stake.”